The opal fires are gone, and but a stain
Of day yet lingers as the sudden night
With swift cloud blots the crouching hills from sight,
And the far sea moans deep in ominous pain.
Ah me, it is the swart-winged hurricane!
The furious tide in elemental fight
Is lashing fierce and hoar with giant might,—
The bleeding shores the tale shall tell the main!
Brave sailor, reeling in thy storm-drunk bark,
Blinded by sheeted rain blown tempest-wild,
And vexed with roaring darkness round about!
The heaven-sent vision fair of wife and child
Calm seated at love's hearth, with face ahark,
Makes thee divine amid the awful rout.